


hypnotics

by drevelyn



Category: Andi Mack (TV)
Genre: M/M, thank you disney for the piano scene i will now write 500 fics about tj playing the piano
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-11 23:33:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19936351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drevelyn/pseuds/drevelyn
Summary: Cyrus is always being dragged to boring parties with his parents. One turns out not to be so boring when he hears a piano in the distance.





	hypnotics

**Author's Note:**

> should i have written this when my other fic isn't even done? probably not.

Cyrus tugs the sleeves down on his suit. It looks small. The short pants are thinly veiled by tall black socks, the button on his blazer is pulling at it’s threads, and he has been tugging his sleeves down all night. It’s also itchy. He groans, giving up and walking over to the sink, giving his hands a quick rinse and splashing some water in his face and hair. 

“Three more hours Cyrus. You can do this.” He holds his hand on the door knob, enjoying his last few seconds of solitude before his bubble is burst with drunken adults and ear throbbing music. With a deep breath, he pulls the door open, slowly strolling down the hall. He barely gets five feet from the bathroom when he hears something, miraculously, over the pulsing beat traveling towards. It sounds like a piano. With one last look at where he should be going to rejoin his parents, he turns and walks in the opposite direction, following the sound.

He hasn’t been to this part of the house yet. There are tall classical paintings and glass lining every doorway to a new room. Everything is gilded gold. The sound slowly gets louder as the party softens. It leads to him to the end of a hallway, a pair of solid french doors. He presses his ear up against them, listening closely. 

This is the first moment that Cyrus wish he knew anything about music. The song is soft and fluid, but he couldn’t tell you what it was if you held a gun to his head. He presses harder, trying to hear better. Cyrus trips as the door swings open, just barely avoiding falling directly onto his face. The music abruptly stops with a misplayed note, and Cyrus looks up to see who he’s interrupted. 

“Sorry,” the boy says, even if Cyrus should be the one to apologize, “that door doesn’t close properly.” Cyrus laughs, fixing his suit even if it’s no use.

“It’s fine. Maybe I shouldn’t have been leaning on it so hard.” Cyrus feels his face heat up at the admission that he was listening. “What were you just playing?” His curiosity outweighs his embarrassment. 

“Um, Bach’s prelude. You wanna hear it again?” The boys sets his hands delicately on the keys, lightly brushing his fingers back and forth.

“Yes. Yeah.” Cyrus says, taking a step forward. The boy looks at his hands, gazing his eyes across the keys. He takes a deep breath, leaning back and closing his eyes before diving down into the first note.

The song is just a graceful as before. His whole body moves with the notes, slowly rocking back and forth. He pushes into each note, playing with intent. His eyebrows are knit together in concentration, the only thing not flowing with the music. His eyes fall open and closed, his whole being following where the music takes him while somehow still being in total control. The last note plays and he lets it ring for a moment, letting his hands freeze in the air before the rest back in his lap and he turns toward Cyrus.

“That was crazy,” is what comes out of Cyrus’ mouth. The boy laughs, a slight rose pooling in his cheeks. He looks down at his hands again, and Cyrus wonders if he’s ever as in awe at what they can do as he is right now.

“Thanks.” 

“Do you know anything else?” The boy sucks on his teeth, ghosting his hands over the notes again. Everything he does with the piano is so gentle.

“Here.” He clenches his fists, turning his knuckles white before opening them back up and laying them down, ready to start.

The next song he plays is the complete opposite of the last one. His shoulders tense through his dress shirt as he pulls his hands across the keys, pushing everything he has into each note. His hands dance so smoothly and so intensely, playing with such power without losing an ounce of the grace he has before. Cyrus can’t help but walk forward, right up next to the keys and watch him, watch his hands, rough and calloused. His whole being is an oxymoron.

His eyes dart back and forth as if he’s trying to solve a complicated math problem, careful not to miss a single note. The song is long, but the boy is engaged the whole time, putting everything he has into it. Cyrus sees a single drop of sweat fall down his temple, sees his eye twitch in recognition of it, but he doesn’t lose focus. Even his feet are engaged, one minutely tapping the beat while the other one lifts on and off of the pedal. He takes every moment where the song slows and savors it before jumping right back in.

Cyrus is mesmerized the entire time, in complete admiration at how talented he is. He has a thousand questions to ask but doesn’t want to distract him, so he just keeps watching. He watches as his hands pass the melody back and forth, as they work in harmony to bring the whole piece together, as the muscles in his forearms and wrist bulge with tension. Cyrus feels like he could watch all night. Each note has its own sharp voice, the boys fingers so clearly giving it to each of them. His head and his mouth move with his hands as he feels what he plays. 

The last chords burst out in crisp succession and he brings his hands into his lap, panting slightly. Cyrus doesn’t say anything. If his last piece was crazy, this was…

“That was phenomenal.” The boy who smiles at him, who’s so humble and shy about his miraculous talent is nothing like the one he watches play. “How long have you been playing?”

“Since I was five. Do you play an instrument?” Cyrus tries not to laugh to hard at that.

“No. My friend tried to teach me guitar once, but… it didn’t go very well.” The boy laughs. “What’s your name?” Cyrus didn’t mean to ask that so bluntly.

“Oh. Tj. Yours?”  _ Tj. _

“Cyrus.”

“Well,” he stretches a hand out. “Nice to meet you Cyrus.” Cyrus grabs Tj’s hand, intimated that he gets to shake the same hand that just made such beautiful music. “Do you want to hear something else?” Cyrus nods his head.

He spends the rest of the night listening to Tj play. He never stops finding something new to notice about the way he plays; it’s hypnotizing. Every so often Tj will slow his hands down and look over at him, giving a slight smile before focusing back on the keys and picking up the pace. It’s not until 11:30 that Cyrus realises he’s been with Tj for almost two hours.

“Crap. I have to get back to my parents,” Cyrus says, disappointed, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “Sorry.”

“No it’s fine. I should get going too anyway. Want me to walk you?” For the third time tonight, Cyrus heats up.

“Sure.” 

They walk through the ornate hallways side by side, their shoulders brushing as they look around. Cyrus likes it.

“Do you know who lives here?” he asks. Maybe it seems weird that he doesn’t know who’s house he’s at, but Cyrus is always being dragged to different houses by his parents, so he’s given up asking, or really caring.

“Yeah. Mine.” Cyrus flips his head to look at Tj, who is looking back at him, a small smirk on his face.

“Huh?” Tj laughs, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“It’s my grandma’s. I’m just visiting.” They’re practically in Buckingham Palace. Who is Tj’s grandma? The queen?

“Oh, where do you live?”

“Not far. A few hours.” Cyrus’ chest falls.

“Oh.” He looks at the floor, stepping once away from Tj’s side.

“But,” Tj says, stepping close to Cyrus again. “I visit a lot.” He raises his eyebrows at Cyrus, the smirk struggling not to turn into a full smile.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” The doors they’ve reached are brimming with sound, ready to burst as soon as Cyrus turns the handle. “So, I’ll see you around then?”

“Hopefully.” They give each other one last smile before Cyrus returns to the main party, holding on to the hope Tj has that they will in fact see each other again.


End file.
